Toni L.P. Kelner - Laura Fleming 07 - Mad as the Dickens

by Toni L. P. Kelner

  “You’re right,” I admitted. “I just keep trying to link the murder to those silly tricks—” Remembering that Junior’s nephew had gotten hurt through one of those tricks, I changed it to, “I mean, those nasty tricks. Maybe they really aren’t connected.”

  “And maybe they are. We just don’t know yet.” She patted me on the arm. “But I do like the way your mind works. What next?”

  I spotted Vasti greeting Aunt Nora at the door. “In my unprofessional opinion, we should eat, because I smell fried chicken.”

  Aunt Nora had brought some of her fried chicken, which is so delectable that if Colonel Sanders were still alive, he’d have been beating the door down to find out how she did it. Not only had she cooked enough to feed everybody, she’d brought along all the fixings, too: mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, biscuits, and double-butter Christmas cookies for dessert. With all that, she had the nerve to apologize for not having been able to find decent corn on the cob in December.

  Needless to say, Richard put an immediate halt to the rehearsal. If he hadn’t, he would have had a mutiny on his hands. Once our plates were filled, I dragged him into a corner so we could talk. Or rather, I talked, telling him what Junior and I had found out so far. Richard nodded, ate, and made encouraging noises in the appropriate places. When I finished, he said, “It sounds as if you two are making progress.”

  “You think so?” I said doubtfully. “We’ve been shooting down theories faster than we can come up with them.”

  “I have complete confidence in you, and having Junior around can only help.”

  Just then I looked up and saw Mark watching us. “Has he been here all day?”

  “In and out,” Richard said. “I suppose he’s investigating, but I haven’t seen any progress from him.”

  “What’s going on with him, anyway? He can’t possibly be as stupid as he’s been acting.”

  “Maybe he’s trying to lull suspects into a false sense of security.”

  “If he’s that good an actor, you should cast him as Scrooge.”

  “Don’t even think of messing with my cast again,” he warned me. “I’ve finally got the right Scrooge, but pulling this off is still going to be tough.”

  “Don’t worry. You concentrate on the play and let Junior and me play detective.”

  “Have you two mapped out your next step?”

  We hadn’t, but he’d given me an idea. “I’m planning to question somebody who spent a lot of time with Seth recently, and who just happened to be nearby when he was killed.”

  “Great! He should be able to tell you a lot.”

  “I hope so.” I looked at him expectantly.

  A second or two later, he got it. “Oh, no, you don’t! The deal was that you and Junior do your thing—I’ve got a play to direct.”

  “I’m not asking you to do anything. I just want to ask you some questions.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “What if I don’t cooperate?”

  “I’ll have to get tough.”

  “Whips? Chains?”

  “Richard Fleming! This is a whole new side of your personality.”

  “We temperamental director types always live large.”

  “I can borrow Junior’s handcuffs if you insist, but for now, how about bribery?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  I tried for a husky whisper. “What about some cookies?”

  “Aunt Nora brought cookies?”

  After I brought him a plate-full, Richard was willing to tell me anything he knew. The problem was, he insisted that he didn’t know anything that could help.

  “Seth and I didn’t discuss anything other than the play,” Richard said in between mouthfuls. “I was working so hard to get him to stop being himself and start being Scrooge, I didn’t want him to say anything personal. Even if he had been worried that somebody wanted to kill him, I wouldn’t have given him a chance to talk about it.”

  “Rats,” I said. “What about the rest of the cast?”

  “The same goes for them. Half the time I don’t even remember their real names. I just call them by their characters’ names.”

  That made me think of something. “According to what Aunt Maggie said, Vasti pretty much let people pick their parts. Right?”

  He nodded.

  “Don’t you think that the part a person picks says something about him?”

  “Is this one of those pop psychology tests where you analyze people by finding out which Beatle they like best?”

  “Probably, but play along anyway. After all, you did accept my bribe.”

  “So I did,” he said, licking colored sugar off of his fingers. “Who first?”

  “How about Tim Topper?”

  “Bob Cratchit. Honest, and loyal to a fault. Loves his family. As far as I know, this also applies to Tim. None of which precludes his being a murderer, of course.” He paused. “There is one thing. I don’t think he liked Seth.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “As I said, Cratchit is loyal to Scrooge beyond reasonable expectations.”

  “I always figured he really needed the job.”

  “Partly, but Dickens created lots of characters who put up with cruelty because they’re good. Most of them eventually get rewarded, at least in his early work, though in later—” He stopped himself. “Sorry, I get carried away.”

  “I understand.” I’d known he was an English professor when I married him, so I could hardly blame him for acting like one.

  “Anyway, Cratchit asks Scrooge for better treatment, but doesn’t seem to resent it when Scrooge refuses.”

  “Right.”

  “Tim’s performance didn’t reflect that. His Bob seemed angry at Scrooge. Admittedly that’s a more reasonable reaction, but it’s not what the part calls for.”

  “Maybe Tim doesn’t realize how it’s supposed to be played.”

  “That’s what I thought, and I was planning to address the problem when I got a chance, but after Big Bill took on the role, it wasn’t necessary. Tim started playing it the way it was written.”

  “So either he really disliked Seth, or he really likes Big Bill,” I speculated.

  “Or maybe he reread his part,” Richard said. “Who else?”

  “Florence Murdstone. Now that I think about it, I’m surprised she didn’t keep her maiden name.”

  “Most women do still take the husband’s name, even in these enlightened times. You did.”

  “I know, but there are other customs from less enlightened times. Around here, when women marry down, they generally either keep their maiden name or go by both names, like Florence Easterly Murdstone.”

  “Marry down? I shouldn’t quote Dickens so much. The Victorian era is going to your head. Tell me, was our marriage considered marrying up or marrying down?”

  “Up because of that Harvard ring of yours, but down because you’re a Yankee. So it evens out.”

  “I’ll accept that,” he said. “What does Florence’s choice tell us? Or rather, both of her choices, since she’s playing Scrooge’s old girlfriend Belle and Mrs. Cratchit.”

  I thought for a minute. “Start with Belle. She’s trying to make Scrooge realize what’s really important in life. From Aunt Maggie’s gossip, Florence blew off her society friends to marry the man she loved. Right?”

  “What about Mrs. Cratchit?”

  “My take is that she had more common sense than her husband. She knew Scrooge was using Bob, but she couldn’t do anything about it. If this represents Florence’s relationship with Seth, it doesn’t sound as if she liked him.”

  “Maybe all it means is that there are only two decent roles for women in the play.”

  I punched him gently. “Play nice. I’m carrying your baby, and look how swollen my ankles are.”

  “Put your feet up and I’ll rub them.”

  “And?”

  “And I’ll play nice.”

  “Good.” I allowed
him to massage my feet for a few minutes before going on. “Next, David Murdstone as Scrooge’s nephew Fred, who keeps trying to redeem Scrooge. Since there’s no mention of Fred’s father, can we assume that Scrooge is a father figure to Fred?”

  “Nothing in the text says that,” Richard said, “but nothing disputes it, either.”

  “Then isn’t it indicative that Fred tries to change Scrooge? I heard that David didn’t get along with his father.”

  “They did seem very different,” Richard admitted. “Jake and Seth were much closer. Does that make David a more likely candidate for Seth’s killer than Jake?”

  “Not necessarily. Sometimes it’s the people who are alike who fight the most.”

  “True, but there’s a problem. David didn’t pick the role of Fred. He only took it because Florence talked him into it. She wanted him to be in the play with her, and she thought he’d be good as Fred.”

  “Oh.” I stopped. “Does this psychobabble make any sense, Richard?”

  He didn’t answer—just kept rubbing my feet.

  “I get the hint. I’ll hush up and enjoy the foot rub.” I did hush, and I definitely enjoyed the foot rub, but I kept going over the suspects in my head. It was aggravating. I just couldn’t come up with a reason compelling enough to commit murder over. Then I thought of newspaper articles about people being killed for nothing more than cutting off another driver in traffic. Maybe our murderer didn’t have anything like what I would consider a good reason.

  “Richard,” I said, “what would it take to get you to commit murder?”

  “Other than losing another cast member?”

  “Seriously.”

  “Somebody threatening you or our child. Or me, of course.”

  “That would be self-defense, or wife and child defense, not murder. What else?”

  “I don’t think I’d kill for money, but if I were desperate enough, maybe I would. The same for revenge: I don’t consider myself a vengeful person, but who can tell? I don’t know, Laura. Quite honestly, I hope I never find out.”

  “Fair enough. I can’t say that I’ve got a better answer.” Like Richard, I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out either. I looked around and noticed that people were finishing their lunches. “Looks like it’s about time to get things rolling again.”

  “So it does. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll hit the men’s room.” He gave me a quick kiss and headed off.

  Aunt Nora was starting to pack up her things, so I went to give her a hand.

  “The chicken was wonderful,” I said.

  “I’m so glad you enjoyed it.” She patted my tummy. “Did the baby get enough, too?”

  “Lord, yes. I ate enough for me, the baby, and six or seven other people.” Then I virtuously added, “I had lots of vegetables, too.”

  She beamed. There’s nothing quite so satisfying to Aunt Nora as a bulging waistband. “So,” she asked with studied nonchalance, “how’s your project coming along?”

  “Junior and I are still working on it. While you’re here, let me pick your brain. Do you know of any reason why anybody would have killed Seth?”

  Before she could answer, I heard Richard call out, “Would whoever it was who ran off with the soap dispenser from the men’s room please return it?” There were a few snickers, but most people just looked irritated.

  “Are y’all still having problems with practical jokes?” Aunt Nora asked.

  I nodded. “At least this one is harmless.” I told her about the nail on Tiny Tim’s crutch.

  “That’s terrible,” she said. “I like a good joke as much as the next person, but there’s no excuse for hurting a child.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me. But we’re having even less luck catching the prankster than with catching Seth’s killer.”

  “I don’t know that I can help you with either, but I will tell you what I know about the Murdstones.”

  “Great.” I sat down and got comfortable. Aunt Nora isn’t known for fast talking.

  “I didn’t know Seth well, but I did know his wife. We were on a couple of church committees together. Of course, that was before she got sick and stopped leaving the house.”

  “She had cancer, didn’t she?”

  Aunt Nora nodded. “Liver cancer. She was already pretty far gone before they found it, so there wasn’t a whole lot they could do to help her. Some of us up at the church would take meals and things by for her and the boys, and it about broke our hearts. Her just wasting away, and poor David moping around, looking nearly as bad as she did, because he knew what was happening. Jake was younger, so it didn’t hit him the same way.”

  “What about Seth? How did he take it?”

  “He was worse off than David in a way. He didn’t seem to believe that his wife was dying. Everybody in Byerly knew it was only a matter of time; she was so bad off she couldn’t even go to the bathroom by herself. But he’d talk like she was going to get better and hop up off that bed.”

  “Maybe he was just trying to make her feel better.”

  “No, he was in denial.”

  I blinked. Even though they watch Oprah in Byerly just like everywhere else, it always surprises me when one of my aunts uses words like that. “What did he do when she died?”

  “I’ve never seen a man take on so. What with him and the boys, it was the saddest funeral I’d ever been too. Seth fell apart, and David closed himself up, and Jake was mostly confused about what was going on. The other women at the church and I had to help them with just about everything: going through his wife’s things, and cleaning the house, and making sure the boys got fed. Seth didn’t pull himself out of it for months.”

  “He never remarried?”

  “Everybody encouraged him to, since he had the boys to raise, but his heart was in the grave.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Don’t you know that expression? It means he was still so much in love with his first wife that he couldn’t bring himself to fall in love again. Which was a shame, because there were a couple of women who thought a whole lot of him.” She nodded at somebody. “There’s one of them right there.”

  I looked in that direction. “Mrs. Gamp?”

  “Her husband died not long before Seth’s wife, and since she didn’t have any children of her own, she’d have been a good mother to his boys. Everybody thought sure he was going to marry her, but then he broke up with her and started going around with somebody else.” She lowered her voice. “It was about then that she started talking about Mrs. Harris.”

  “Really?” I said. “He must have really hurt her.” Of course, most scorned women act right away, not years later. “Did anybody else have a grudge against him? Maybe somebody else in the play?”

  “Did you have anybody particular in mind?”

  “What about the Christmas Spirits? Oliver, Sid, and Pete.”

  “Oliver?” She thought for a minute. “I don’t know of any feud between Oliver and Seth, but it seems like there was something with Sid. You remember Tom Honeywell, don’t you?”

  “How could I forget?” Tom, a born troublemaker, had dated my cousin Ilene, and she was later accused of his murder. Though Sid was a wonderful man, everybody in town pretty much thought Tom had gotten what he deserved.

  “Tom worked for Seth for a while, but there was some kind of problem and Seth fired him. I think he said Tom stole from him, but I don’t remember the details. I can’t imagine he would have taken any of the chairs. It must have been tools or something like that.”

  Or maybe it had been moonshine. I was only surprised Tom hadn’t blabbed what Seth was up to all over town, but then again, he couldn’t have without admitting his own involvement.

  “Sid was pretty hot at the time,” Aunt Nora said. “He didn’t want to believe his son would steal. Then Tom stole from him, too, and he realized Seth had been right after all. But that would have been more a reason for Seth to be angry at Sid than the other way around.”

  “If eith
er of them held a grudge, I didn’t see it,” I said, “and since they had scenes together, I think I would have. What about Pete Fredericks?”

  Aunt Nora giggled despite herself. “This is terrible, Laurie Anne, but all I can think of is that he might have done it to drum up business.”

  “I know, I’ve thought the same thing. Poor old Pete. I bet he’s sorry he left the mill to become a mortician. He must have to put up with a lot.”

  “You know he does, but there aren’t many places in Byerly where he could make as much money as he does at the funeral home. It’s a shame, too, because he’s got a degree in chemistry from NC State.”

  “I didn’t know that.” Could there be a connection there? Wouldn’t a chemist have been helpful to a bootlegger, helping set up the distillations and testing the product for proof? Junior hadn’t mentioned anything about Pete being involved, but there was a lot about Seth’s operation she hadn’t known. Then I pictured Pete delivering whiskey in his hearse, and started snickering again.

  “What?” Aunt Nora wanted to know.

  “Nothing,” I said. “It was a silly thought.”

  She must have decided it was a pregnancy thing, because she let it slide. “Anybody else?”

  “Only if you know about any other scores people might have wanted to settle.” I looked around the room to see whom I hadn’t asked about. “What about Big Bill?”

  “Big Bill Walters with Seth Murdstone? Lord, Laurie Anne, I don’t know that the two of them ever spoke until this play came up. They didn’t exactly travel in the same circles, you know.” She stopped herself. “No, wait. It seems like I heard recently that Big Bill wanted to buy Seth’s house. Or at least the land. He’s got a couple of acres.”

  “Was Seth going to sell?”

  “That I don’t know. But why would Big Bill kill somebody over a piece of property? He already owns most of the town.”

  “That’s never stopped Big Bill. Besides, when you always get what you want, it must be all the more frustrating when you find something you can’t have.”

  “I suppose. Do you think that’s why he keeps chasing after Aunt Maggie?”

  “You think he wants to buy the Burnette home place?”